


Going Once, Going Twice

by Unlucky_charm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5228900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unlucky_charm/pseuds/Unlucky_charm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To raise money for the school, the returning eighth years organize a date auction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Once, Going Twice

Harry stepped out from yet another fruitless meeting with professor Mcgonagall and contemplated sneaking into Gryffindor tower. After having his three first weeks of school drowned in wave after wave of bad news, he yearned for an overstuffed crimson armchair to drift off in. It wasn’t that the new eighth year dormitories weren’t marvelous. In fact,  due to their small numbers, the Hogwarts staff had made sure to treat their returning heroes to some extra luxury. But they could have recreated Buckingham palace for all Harry cared, it still wasn’t home. And right now, home was all he needed.

They were broke.

That’s what all the meeting with McGonagall had been about starting from the second he set his trunk down on his new bed. Hogwarts had no money to continue with repairs and while that sounded absolutely ridiculous to Harry the first time, it was starting to get worrisome.

“I don’t understand. Can’t we use magic? Have the staff and students help?”

“What do you think we’ve been doing all this time? The only reason this school is open and standing for a new year is because of our staff and student, Mr. Potter.”

His response had been instinctual, and also very stupid. He himself had singlehandedly restored and organized the potions classroom, after all.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem, Mr. Potter, is that this school is not simply stone and tile! There is some advanced magic at play,” Mcgonagall paused to take a deep breath. “Advanced magic that we don’t necessarily have access to.”

“So... who does?”

Worry weighed on the headmistress’s face in the form of a rather heavy frown. She closed her eyes and opened them seconds later, very, very slowly.

“The Ministry, for one.”

If that was supposed to be some big revelation, Harry completely missed it.

“Let’s ask them for help then!”

“We have,” Mcgonagall spat back, but something in Harry’s gut told him the hostility wasn’t directed his way. “And they’ve agreed to help.”

“That’s gre –“

“At a price.”

Harry discovered the actual numbers associated with said ‘price’ very soon after and almost fell out of his chair very soon after _that_.

“The work that needs to be done is extensive and requires professional skills,” she explained. “We are talking years in experience, Potter,” she added, when the word ‘Hermione’ began to form on his lips.

In the end, it was made clear to him that it was close to hopeless, unless the Saviour had some ‘hero’ left over in him. Which he did, of course. For Hogwarts, he definitely did. It was not heroism that Harry Potter lacked, but any form of coherent plan of action.

“Still broke?” Ron asked when Harry plopped himself cross-legged on the common room floor.  That’s where he liked to sit when he was discouraged, as though being uncomfortable would prompt him to come up with good ideas.

“Even if I gave them all I have...” Which wasn’t much after his donations to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

“Did you actually suggest that?” His best friend scoffed.

“Yep. Barely covers a fraction.” He let himself fall back on the rug and lay there for a bit, hands behind his head. “There’s no use.”

Harry stared at the dark cream ceiling and followed its crisscrossing beams with his eyes. The war was over and he felt wrong feeling so disordered. He almost resented McGonagall for having asked him for help. He knew at least a hundred other students who would be more than willing to and who had twice the knowledge Harry did concerning wizard economics. He closed his eyes; following the grid pattern was giving him a headache. Little did he know that ache would be blooming into a full blown migraine in a matter of seconds. His only warning was the sound of footsteps coming towards him and stopping right next to his head on the navy common room carpet.

“ _Oh._ Don’t tell me he’s sulking about the school’s Gringotts account again.” Pansy’s shrill voice broke through the overall calmness of the common room, resulting in a synchronized turning of heads on the part of disturbed studiers. Pansy had a knack for forcefully grabbing everyone’s attention and never letting go. Harry knew this all too well and it annoyed him to no end.

 In fact, they had no choice but to get to know more about each other. That’s sort of what happened when you stuck Gryffindors with Slytherins, sprinkled on some Hufflepuff and topped it all off with the occasional Ravenclaw. House divisions were blurred and much to Harry’s dismay, this resulted in being acquainted with Pansy Parkinson of all people.

“Lay off, Pansy.” Hermione spoke up from behind the book she was reading.

Harry opened his eyes. He could not see their faces from where he was laying, but judging by the vibrations running across the wooden floor, there was soon to be a circle of student surrounding him.

“I most certainly will not, Granger.” Pansy’s knee high grey sock appeared on his right. “I’m tired of watching him have an existential crisis every time he returns from McGonagall’s office. It’s pathetic.”

“Harry is trying to find a way to get the school fixed. It’s no easy task!” The hem of Hermione’s school robes appeared on his left. If he reached out both his arms, he could grab both girls by the ankles.

“Maybe not to an idiot like Potter,” Zabini chimed in from the desk he was occupying against the wall.

Had Zabini just insulted him? Blatantly so. Was it worth sitting up? Definitely not. He closed his eyes instead.

“Oh, like you could come up with something better.” Harry knew for a fact that Hermione had just crossed her arms over her chest.

Harry heard a book slam. “Well no one ever asks _me,_ do they?

“There’s a reason for that,” Ron scoffed.

“Point is,” Pansy hissed, cutting Blaise off even before he could think of a retort. “I’m sure one of us could come up with some kind of idea, which is already more than the sum of _nothing_ Potter has provided.”

She had a point...

“She has a point,” Neville muttered from somewhere behind Harry’s head. The circle of students was almost complete.  Harry opened his eyes and looked up at Neville, who gave him an apologetic smile. ‘No need, mate,” Harry wanted to say, but talking just felt like a waste of effort.

Pansy’s socks suddenly disappeared from his right, making their way to one of the low coffee tables. Harry didn’t have to look to know that the ex-Slytherin had climbed on top of one of them.

“Attention peasants!” She called out.

“Time to sit up,” Harry grunted inaudibly to himself and pulled himself back into a sitting position. Students began to gather around them, irritated and yet intrigued by Pansy’s announcement.

“We all know McGonagall has asked Potter to balance the school’s budget  and as much as I’d like to see him throw himself off the castle roof, I can’t speak for everyone.”

An all too familiar snort followed the comment. Harry’s head instinctively spun around and found itself face to face with the perpetrator’s crotch. He was not sure when exactly Draco Malfoy had decided to take a seat behind him, but he definitely hadn’t been there when Harry had first settled in his spot on the floor.

Malfoy just stared at him, a single eyebrow arched high enough to meet his fringe. Harry’s head twisted back forward so fast, he almost snapped his neck. He couldn’t trust his blush not to betray him, nor his eyes not to linger in certain places they shouldn’t be lingering. Too often did Harry’s rebellious gaze wonder into Malfoy’s... _restricted sections._

“Which is why we need to help the poor sod. So!” She clapped her hands together. “Any ideas?”

There was a moment of silent confusion as half of the students tried to think of a solution, while the other half –including Harry –attempted to process the concept of Pansy Parkinson wanting to help him out.

“Donations?”  Padma Patil shrugged from the armrest she was perched on.

Nobody said anything, and Pansy turned to Harry.

“Potter?”

“Er, well, we’ve already sort of milked those as much as we could...”

“Fair enough,” Pansy nodded and continued to search the room for proposals. Harry was thankful she didn’t coax him for a better explanation, as he did not have one.

“Can’t we learn the magic and do it ourselves?” Another Ravenclaw chimed in.

“Granger?” Pansy turned to Hermione this time, who was clearly not at all expecting to be addressed.

“Oh,” she blushed, which seemed to please Pansy immensely. “We could, but it would take far too long and holds no guarantees... I think we need something a bit more secure.”

“Well said,” she nodded and turned back to the crowd, but not without letting her gaze linger on Hermione for a fleeting moment. Harry noticed and judging by the slight frown Ron was sporting, so had he. “Anyone else? Come on, people!”

“I suppose we could raise the money. Muggle schools do that, don’t they? It seems to work for them...”

Pansy simply blinked at Luna, as did the rest of the room. “Lovegood, how the _hell_ did you even get in here?”

Malfoy’s loud sigh had Harry breaking his neck again. “Goyle let her in,” the blonde rolled his eyes, obviously bored in his demeanor.

The entire common room turned to Goyle, whose ears were taking on an alarmingly magenta tint.

“W-well, good thing I did!” Goyle snapped, all too defensively. “She –she seems to be on to something.”

“Luna, you were saying...” Hermione diverted everyone’s attention, elegantly saving Goyle from further reddening.

“Muggles raise money for their causes. They sell things, like baked goods.”

“A bake sale?” Hermione chuckled. “It’s common, but profits are small and slow.”

“Why would I buy food from students if I can get it from Hogsmeade?” Ron said.

“Or free from the kitchens.”  Neville added.

A conversational buzz spread across the common room as everyone threw around money making ideas, a disturbing amount of them not even legal.

“Let’s do people’s homework and charge them.”

“Counterfeit potions!”

“One on one flying lessons for first and second years.”

“Share secret make out spots at a price!”

“Kissing booth!”

Harry had never felt so hopeless.

“All muggles love a good bake sale...” Seamus Finnigan’s Irish drawl resonated louder than all the other voices, prompting a hush as all ears tuned in. “But you know what they love more?”

Seamus had claimed an entire love seat to himself and was lounging on it as though he were some Ancient Roman empress. Yes, _empress_. Harry was half-expecting Dean to start feeding him grapes, but was mostly distracted by the mischievous grin spreading across the Irishman’s lips. Harry could easily read T-R-O-U-B-L-E spelled out on that smile.

“What?” Pansy asked, hands on her hips.

“A date auction.”

Complete, unadulterated silence began its reign in the common room. The expression spoke for itself and muggleborn or not, Harry could tell everyone had an idea of what a ‘date auction’ implied. Nevertheless, clarification was clearly necessary.

“Finnigan,” Pansy said, hopping off the table. “You have the floor.”

Everyone watched as Seamus swaggered over to the table. Once he was standing on it, he resembled a newly crowned monarch admiring  his kingdom.

“It’s simple really,” he practically giggled. “It is a scientific fact that for every 4th year, there exists a 7th year crush. The mere fact that the object of affection is older, more mature, more...” he paused to grin again, “ _experienced_... makes them irresistible to the eyes of the blooming fourth or fifth year. To the point where, if given the chance, they would put it all on the line for a few moments alone with them. Maybe even say... their Hogsmeade allowances.”

Sharp whispered ran frantically between groups. Harry couldn’t tell if the idea was being widely accepted or rejected.

“And I mean no harm to my fellow classmates when I say, a pureblood’s allowance is nothing to sneeze at.”

“So, what? We’re selling... ourselves?” Blaise Zabini did not sound too happy about that.

“No, sir! You are selling your time. A date, to be exact.”

This answer seemed to please Blaise a little bit more, as he nodded. In turn, Harry still wasn’t entirely convinced.

“ How lucrative will this actually be?” Pansy asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Very.”

“How are you so sure?”

“An example. I know at least six fourth years who are simply pining over Pavarti.”

Somebody whistled and several people laughed.

 “Add those to ones I don’t know about and the ones in higher years.  Now, imagine them bidding on a date with her. There’s a rush. Things get heated. I’d predict...” Seamus scrunched up his face as he made the calculations in his head. “An average of 40 galleons per 8th or 7th  year student auctioned off.”

“I’ll do it!” Pavarti laughed, which set off a ripple effect of willing volunteers.

“I’ll make the list!” Hermione shouted over the uproar and joined Seamus on the table. Nobody asked where the quill and parchment had come from.

A surprisingly large number of students crowded the small table, shouting their names at Hermione who scribbled them down at furious speeds. Harry still did not know how he felt about all of it. Hell, he didn’t even know if McGonagall would approve.

 He shared a worried glance with the only other person in the room who seemed to be showing any concern about the whole idea. What Harry didn’t know was that Ron wasn’t looking at him at all, as his friends fretting was due to a pair of hungry grey eyes boring into the back of his head.


End file.
